If Demons Saved Angels
by Crimson1
Summary: After 9.23, Do You Believe in Miracles, Dean awakes changed, but not as he expects. He is a demon but no longer feels the First Blade's pull. Once reunited with Castiel, Dean realizes he can replenish the angel's grace, which leads to deeper revelations as they prepare to once again team up with Crowley to save the world. Destiel and happy ending ahead! Because we need one...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Love Supernatural slash? Well whether you're a fan of my fanfic Incubus or not, you might enjoy the original version I'm publishing as a book trilogy. Book 1, Incubus, came out last year. Book 2, Changeling, releases...NEXT WEEK.

In honor of the release, I have decided to jump into the foray of season tags, partly because holy shit, this season ended amazingly, and to get a little extra promotion out there for the book as well. So enjoy what is planned to be 5 chapters in all, and please consider checking out Incubus at BigWorldNetwork DOT com. I'll post more with chapter 2 after the book has released.

As for this, I keep coming across fics that have Dean going evil next season, maybe he tries to fight it but he still eventually goes evil, and that just doesn't make sense to me. Oh, who knows what the Show will actually do, I just wanted to see a different take on things. This will very quickly become Destiel, as Dean realizes he can replenish Cas's Grace. Tag to 9.23 Do You Believe in Miracles?

Enjoy!

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**If Demons Saved Angels**

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Chapter 1

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The dark wasn't as frightening as Dean expected. He knew that eventually he'd emerge somewhere as a ghost, since his soul couldn't go to Heaven, and if he had been bound for Hell again like he'd expected, he'd be there by now. So the dark, the in between as he waited for his soul to materialize as Kevin's had was…nice. Calm, and not in the way the First Blade had been calm.

Distantly, he heard Sam's voice. He could hear his baby's engine, too. He hated the thought of Sam lugging his corpse around, and hoped the idiot burned him this time like a hunter should.

Time didn't mean much in the dark, so the sounds of the car dimmed sooner than he expected, replaced with a faint sense of the bunker. He didn't understand why he couldn't see anything yet, but maybe it took time. He wondered if burning bones would really matter. He was connected to so many material things, and there was no way Sam would dare torch the Impala.

Maybe, if Cas had succeeded with Metatron as Dean hoped, they'd open the gates and Dean's angel would lead him up personally. It was a nice thought, and just the kind of sappy act Cas would do for him, much as Dean knew he didn't deserve that kind of devotion.

Slowly, as time-not-time passed, he started to feel stronger, more alert, but he still couldn't see anything. He felt bottled up in the dark, and while it was still calming, still safe and warm and had him feeling better by the moment, he just wanted to _wake up_.

Then he heard Crowley. Dean's first thought was _Sam_, but Crowley had no reason to attack them, so why would he come? Just to take Sam out while he was down, while he was probably all weepy and exhausted?

But Dean heard the truth, heard Crowley say that Sam had called for him, or was in the process of calling for him. It made Dean angry, that after everything, they kept repeating the same mistakes. They never grew, or changed, or became better men. They saved the world, sure, but they seemed to slip further and further away each time from saving themselves.

He tried to focus on what Crowley was saying, rather than just the gentle rhythm of his accented voice, and the words became clearer. Dean understood what Crowley was telling him, what he was alluding to with a sharp jolt, almost like a physical reaction. Fear surged through him, swirling around him in the dark.

"Let's go take a howl at that moon," Crowley said, and Dean waited for something deep inside of him to change, to feel some large part of him fall away; become replaced with something else, something evil.

It didn't happen. Instead he felt his body, as if the darkness spread out, reaching into each of his limbs like a great big stretch and that darkness was him, but he didn't feel dark. He felt awake. He felt alive.

He opened his eyes.

"Atta boy, Squirrel."

"Shut up, Crowley."

Dean clutched the First Blade as he sat up. The room didn't look any different—he'd always wondered if demons saw in black and white or with a shadow over everything, but the room looked like it always did. He didn't feel different either.

No. He felt different, but he didn't feel wrong like he expected. He felt… _good_, healed of his wounds, anxious to get up and _do_ something. And not because of the Blade. He no longer felt the pull of the First Blade at all and knew with certainty that he could set it down and wouldn't feel any urge to pick it back up again. He was free of that unquenchable urge to kill.

Which seemed sort of backwards if he really was a new Knight of Hell. The new Cain.

Dean shook his head at the thought and turned to look at Crowley as he dropped his legs over the side of the bed. He stopped cold before standing up.

_Crowley_. Dean could see him. Not just the body he inhabited. _Him_. A flicker of the real Crowley, like he'd seen on everyone's faces during his last few days before his deal was up and he went to Hell, like he'd seen _in Hell_ during his long decades on and off the rack. The real Crowley.

But before Dean could comment on what an ugly bastard the King of Hell was, he noticed something else. Something…bright. Small, but it was there, buried somewhere in the dark and black and charred, marred flesh of Crowley's true form—a spark of light. He wondered…

Shifting the Blade in his grip, Dean held it casually as he looked at Crowley. "What gives, huh? Why do I—"

"Hang on, Hardy Boy," Crowley held up a hand, "your not so better half just finished summoning me."

He vanished.

Dean lurched to his feet. "_Damn it._" He rushed forward out the door, down the hallway, and out into the main area of the bunker. He could hear Sam and Crowley's voices. He slowed.

"Now you listen up—"

"Save it, Moose. Thirty seconds."

"You think you can just leave—"

"No. _Wait_…thirty seconds."

There was a short pause. Then Crowley spoke again.

"Well. He might need a little encouragement. Oi, Squirrel!"

Dean stood frozen at the threshold of the main room, the First Blade hanging loose in his right hand, no longer the natural extension of him that it had been before—now it was just a blade. He knew his eyes were black but he didn't know how to turn them off, didn't have time to figure it out either before Sam dashed out of the dungeon room in front of him.

Sam looked at Dean and his face filled with fury.

"This is low, even for Crowley," Sam spat. "Get the _fuck_ out of my brother."

Dean flinched. "Sammy…"

"_Don't_ call me that. If Crowley thinks he can put one of his demons in Dean and take his body to use the Blade as he sees fit then he has more of a fight on his hands than he bargained for." Sam didn't have a weapon, but Dean knew Sam would launch himself at him anyway if he made a wrong move.

"Sam, it's…it's me. I'm _me_." Dean stepped up to the edge of the table before Sam could ready another sharp rebuttal and set the First Blade on top of it. "Take it. I don't want it. Put it where you wanted before, Sam, locked away, whatever. We'll only use it when we have to, like you said. Or never again, I don't care. Your call. I don't feel its pull anymore."

Sam's fierce expression turned gauging. He looked at Dean. At the Blade. At Dean—disbelieving.

"The Mark brought me back," Dean explained, standing as still as he could at the head of the table so as not to spook Sam into action. "It was killing me anyway, Sammy. If I didn't kill, it was like razors in my gut. A human was never meant to have the Mark and the Blade. It would have burned me out from the inside if I didn't kill for it. But it won't let me go, either. It brought me back just like Cain. I can handle them both now—the Mark, the Blade. I can own this. But I don't want it."

He took a step around the table and Sam jerked back.

Dean stopped. "I can go. I can just go." He turned that over in his head. He didn't know where, but it wasn't as if he didn't have experience being on the road—alone. Nothing could hurt him now, nothing could kill him, except the Blade that only he could wield. He could do anything.

He'd hunt. What else did he know? He'd hunt until there was nothing left of the world to save, and leave Sam to whatever life he wanted.

He turned back toward the bedrooms to gather his things.

"Dean, wait!" Sam cried out, his voice cracked and broken—desperate sounding. "How…how do I know? How do I know it's you?"

Dean glanced over his shoulder, knowing his eyes were still black. How could he prove anything? If a demon was in his body, wearing his skin, it could slip into his mind and use whatever memories it wanted. He couldn't answer questions to prove anything. And if Sam threw holy water on him, he'd burn like any other demon.

So he just looked at Sam, really looked at him, and suddenly he realized that he could see Sam the same way he could see Crowley. The real Sam—his soul. It was like that bright spark deep in Crowley's darkness, but broader, brighter, brilliant blue, with just a few tiny slivers of deep, dark red.

"I don't know if other demons can do this, but…I can see you. Really see you. All that goodness that makes you, you," Dean said, gentle and low. "It's bright…and warm. A little rough around the edges, but you _have_ died a few times, ya know?" he allowed a small chuckle. "Probably left you a little scarred, and I know I wasn't any help with that. Gadreel and Cas did a good job healing you, between the two of them. All the good it did, though, trying to save _that_ asshole," he added, as Crowley sauntered out of the dungeon room.

Sam jumped a little as he turned to Crowley, startled from his staring match with Dean. He scowled at the demon. "I didn't release you."

"Oh please. You think those summoning circles are more than a passing cake walk for me anymore?" Crowley scoffed. "Or were you just hoping for a sleepover later?" He grinned then passed his gaze over Dean with an appraising nod. "He's Dean, wholly and completely. Figures you can see demons. Didn't know you could see souls."

"You can't?" Dean asked him.

Crowley shook his head. "Should have asked Cain for a handbook when we had the chance."

There was a pregnant pause, stifling with static. Dean still wasn't sure if Sam was readying himself to go for a weapon, maybe even the Blade itself, however little good that would do him, or if he'd merely ask Dean to continue his trek to the bedrooms, get his things, and leave.

As Dean watched his brother—not directly, because he just couldn't bear looking at Sam with black eyes like a million pairs they had hated over the years—Sam's already damp hazel eyes filled with ready tears, and the tall behemoth surged forward. He had Dean in his arms in moments. Dean's clothes were still dirty, still bloody and torn, but Sam didn't seem to care.

"Dean…" Sam sobbed.

"You idiot," Dean said fondly. He relaxed against Sam and slowly raised his arms to hug his brother back. They squeezed too tightly like always. "You were really going to make another deal? Really? After all the bullshit we've been through? Never again, Sammy," Dean said softly against Sam's neck. "Okay?"

"Never again," Sam echoed, though they both knew it was a lie. It was easy to pretend they could be better men when the world finally gave them a miracle.

Dean nearly shook his head at the thought—he didn't know if this was a miracle or just another clever trick biding its time. "I don't know if this is permanent," he admitted, finally pulling from the embrace but keeping his hands on Sam's shoulders. "Being a demon sure as hell has to be, but being _me_ still…I don't know if it'll last."

"Oh, quit getting all soggy," Crowley said in distaste. He leaned against the edge of the large table behind them as if he were a regular part of the team—though lately he sort of had been. "You were a demon for a decade, Dean. If we're only counting your time off the rack, anyway. And did it change you? Certainly, but not to the point that 100, 200, 1000 years changes someone.

"This time, you didn't spend a single second in Hell. You were a caterpillar in a rotting cocoon, and now you've awoken a demi-god butterfly. Why would you be anyone but you?"

Dean let his hands drop from Sam's shoulders and moved around him toward Crowley. "Because being human with the Mark and Blade made me a fucking psycho. You saw the way I killed Abaddon. I attacked Gadreel when he just wanted to help us. How is that not going to get worse being a demon?"

"Because a dark thing can infect something made of light," Crowley said matter-of-factly, and with a somewhat more serious face than Dean was used to. "But when a dark thing reaches out and finds something like itself…where can the infection go? Your light has a lovely cloud of smoke protecting it now. The Blade no longer senses a puppet. Only a master."

Dean prepared to fire a hasty comeback, but his words fell stale on his lips. That made a certain amount of sense, and he did feel more like himself again, more than he had even just yesterday. But it seemed too good to be true.

"So what about _your_ light?" Dean asked, stepping into Crowley's space.

"I don't have any light left," Crowley dismissed. "I've been a demon for hundreds of years, which as you know is exponentially longer in the pit, so really…I've had thousands upon thousands of years to become this fantastic a bastard." He smirked wide as ever.

Dean smirked right back. "Oh yeah? Too bad you're not a very good liar."

Crowley's smile dropped and he pursed his lips. "I told you I kicked the blood habit."

"I'm sure you did, but whatever Sam did to you when he almost cured you, it's not gone, even without human blood in your system. There's a spark of your old soul in there, Crowley. I can see it. And if I can see that…"Dean looked back at Sam, whose tears had dried but he had an exhausted look on his face like he'd released a breath he'd been holding for hours, "…maybe I'm not a lost cause. Maybe you're not either," he turned back to Crowley.

For a moment, Crowley didn't seem to know how to respond to that. His face was blank, as they'd seen only when Crowley was a lost, blubbery blood addict, or when he'd been with his son. Finally, Crowley pulled on his usual wicked grin and held up his hands.

"Let's not jump into Kumbaya just yet, boys. I do have a proposition for you though, if you were wondering why I was sticking around for the weepy reunion."

"Proposition?" Sam repeated, his more familiar scowl replacing his look of relief as he came up to stand beside Dean. "What do you want now? After everything we did—"

"Now, now, I said proposition, not favor," Crowley broke in. "Mutual satisfaction. I'm only asking that you take a moment to hear me out. There's a long road ahead where Heaven and Hell are concerned, and I'm thinking about everyone's best interests."

Sam huffed, but Dean wasn't so sure he doubted Crowley. He might still always have his own interests in mind first, but Dean wondered…he couldn't help but wonder.

"Sammy, your call," Dean said as he turned to him. He looked Sam square in the eyes for the first time, and hoped his brother wasn't too unnerved by what looked back at him. "I don't trust myself yet, but I trust you, so I'll be relying on you to let me know if I start acting like that dictator asshole again, okay? Do we listen? Or tell Crowley to take a hike?"

Sam's scowl faded to a blank, surprised expression, and his mouth opened but no sound escaped. Admittedly, they didn't have a lot of examples of listening to each other's advice in their backlog, but if Dean was doomed—even if he wasn't—then he planned to spend the next year, and however much longer it might take after that, making up for past mistakes.

Sam gave Crowley a long once over before turning back to Dean. "We'll listen. Whether we like what he has to say will determine whether we use _that _again sooner rather than later," he said with a gesture at the Blade.

Crowley bristled but didn't protest.

"Okay," Dean nodded, "but first I wanna check on Cas. Have you heard anything from him? Know if he took care of Metatron or not? He must have…"

Sam took in a deep breath, like it had dawned on him only just then to think of Cas at all and he felt rightfully guilty. "I…I don't know…"

Dean tried not to let panic creep into his gut. Whether Cas had won or lost, there would be quite a bit of housecleaning to deal with—for all the angels. It made sense that even if Cas was safe and fine he hadn't had the chance to contact them yet. But then…Dean wondered if Cas had his cellphone on him, because he suddenly really wanted to hear his voice.

He glanced at the other end of the table, away from the First Blade, where Sam had apparently emptied Dean's pockets before laying him in his room. His keys, wallet, and cellphone sat there like a mini shrine. He moved to grab his phone.

It clattered and vibrated before Dean could reach it, still on silent.

Dean looked at Sam. Then at Crowley, who shrugged. He snatched the phone up and answered without bothering to check the caller ID. "Cas?"

"Dean…thank God."

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TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: My new book Changeling releases TOMORROW! Search my name Amanda Meuwissen on Amazon to see all my published books, and those I've been Managing Editor on, or head over to BigWorldNetwork DOT com. I'll share more after the release as I post new chapters of this fic.

Thanks so much for the comments so far, my dears! Onto the next part!

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**If Demons Saved Angels**

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Chapter 2

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"Cas," Dean said again, like an exhale—though he doubted breathing was a necessity for him anymore. He exchanged a relieved glance with Sam. "You okay? Is Metatron dead?"

"He is…contained. And I am fine. Are you all right? Metatron told me…he said he'd killed you. I didn't know how to confirm that at first without leaving prematurely, and that wasn't an option, not just then. Then I remembered my phone. I'm sorry, Dean." For all Cas's professor voice stoicism, when he put emotion and true concern into his voice, Dean always felt it.

"I'm…okay, Cas. It's complicated. Not really something I want to explain over the phone. Are you free to come to the bunker? How far away are you?"

"I successfully destroyed the tablet, Dean, but that only disrupts its magic until its pieces can be placed back together, much as you experienced with the Purgatory tablet."

Dean remembered that Kevin's first tablet, the one tied to Purgatory, had been in more than one piece originally, but it had merely taken the prophet's hands on them to change that. "So there isn't a way to destroy a tablet for good?" Dean asked.

"Perhaps not. But it may be a blessing in this case. The other angels are using the tablet to reopen the gates. Souls have already begun flooding in. We have our wings back, Dean. There is a long road ahead, but…if you need me, things are in good hands here. I can come to you at a moment's notice."

A brief thought of telling Cas that everything was fine, that he should stay with his own people and they'd check in later, passed through Dean's mind, but that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted Cas with them, and if the worst of becoming a demon so far was that he was more inclined to listen to the selfish voice inside of him that he usually ignored, than he wasn't going to argue.

He scowled at the knowing grin he saw on Crowley's face. The demon had moved closer to him to better overhear the conversation, much as Sam had also, but Dean was used to such things from his brother. He not so subtly pushed against Crowley's chest.

"A moment's notice sounds great, Cas," Dean said into the phone. "If you're sure you're not needed there?"

"They have things under control, I assure you." The line went dead without so much as a goodbye, then Dean heard Cas's voice from behind him, loud and clear, and Technicolor real. "I am so pleased you are well Dean."

Dean gasped in a shuddery breath. He flicked his phone closed and dropped it onto the table, then slowly turned. He paused halfway to close his eyes, and suddenly he knew—he knew how to veil his eyes as his normal green; it was easy, really. So by the time he finished turning and met Cas's brilliant blue stare, he knew he looked like himself, save the torn and bloody clothing.

Crowley and Sam had both taken a step back, leaving an open path from Dean to Cas. Cas was smiling, his rare, bright smile. Then the smile dropped.

"Dean…" But he wasn't looking at the battered clothes, only at Dean's eyes, his normal green eyes, that Dean should have known wouldn't be enough to hide what he was from an angel.

"Cas, I can explain…" Dean began, hands held up in surrender.

Cas strode across the brief span of space between them, and Dean waited to feel Cas's hand on his forehead and the blinding, searing pain that was sure to follow, because clearly Cas wasn't fooled as Sam had been fooled—he knew a monster when he saw one. Therefore, Dean wasn't prepared for Cas to respond just as Sam had, wrapping his arms around Dean in a much tighter embrace than Dean might have been able to breathe through in the past.

He gasped again. Exhaled again. And sunk against Cas, breathing in the familiar, musky scent of the trenchcoat, familiar because Cas always stood too close, lingered too long.

"Angels, on the other hand," Crowley cut in, as if they had been in mid-conversation, "_can_ see souls. Guess Columbo here still likes what he sees."

Dean relaxed, truly relaxed for the first time since he had awoken. "I'm glad you're okay, Cas."

"And you," Cas said, holding on one more moment longer, almost to the point of being inappropriate, which Dean had come to expect from the angel. Then he stepped back. His smile returned bright as ever. "The Mark of Cain revived you. So Metatron wasn't lying."

"'Fraid not," Dean said, patting his chest. "Got me right where it counts. So you knew about the Mark? The Blade?"

"Only theories and myths. I never thought it would go so far that losing you would be an option. It is a much more dangerous power you wield now, Dean," Cas added with his more common seriousness, glancing at Sam supportively, then at Crowley with suspicion. "For all intents and purposes, you are now Cain. But you have no obligation to Hell. You have no master and cannot be killed, and yet you could kill any being you wish. You are more God now than Metatron…or I ever was."

"Whoa, whoa," Dean held up a hand and frowned. "No god talk. If we've learned anything, it's that everything, no matter how powerful, _can_ be killed. The last thing I want is to come out of this thinking I'm invincible. If there ever comes a time when I need to be stopped, I expect you guys—all of you," he said pointedly at Crowley, "to find a way. I'm counting on you to make sure I keep this power in check."

"That's why I think you can handle it, Dean," Sam said, his eyes no longer red from crying, though he looked more exhausted by the moment. "If you can say that now…I know it'll be okay."

"Yes," Cas echoed, looking upon Dean intensely, as if he were staring into his very soul down to the smallest molecule—which was probably the truth, especially once he elaborated. "Dean, you are like no demon I have ever seen. I have not personally met Cain as you have, but I can assure you…I see a more brilliant soul in you now than I did the last time I saw you, even if there is a veil of darkness surrounding it. This is not like when I raised you from perdition. Then I needed to mold and heal you from your years of corruption and suffering, but now…you are whole. You are beautiful."

Any other day Dean would have scoffed or flinched at such flattery, but he was a hunter turned into a demon, a Knight of Hell, and an angel, _his_ angel, was looking on him and saying he was beautiful despite that. It meant something. It mattered.

And as Dean thought of how Cas saw him, he couldn't help looking closely at how his new senses perceived Cas. He had been afraid at first to look too closely, afraid he might see through to the true Castiel beneath and burn himself away on accident—if such a thing were possible for an otherwise unkillable being. But Cas's brilliance, while larger and brighter than Sam's, wasn't too much for Dean to take in. It was unique from Sam's also in that there seemed to be runes inside the light, maybe Enochian spelling out the very language of creation. He could believe for the first time that Cas really was some creature larger than the Chrysler Building stuffed into a smaller frame.

But then the light flickered. The runes dimmed. It was as if Cas's soul was a light bulb losing power and would someday soon flicker again and go out forever.

Sam didn't comment on Cas's choice of words to describe Dean, he merely smiled bemusedly, no doubt feeling the same relief as Dean that if Cas was giving his stamp of approval, it must be okay.

Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Did I walk in on a Sally Field film?" the demon said with his usual gentle tact. "Everyone is well. No one is the next Big Bad in disguise. Not even me this time. Can we get back to the matter at hand now that the rest of your threesome has arrived?"

Dean cleared his throat and tried to shake off the sensations swirling in his stomach, the sense of thrilling, awesome power, mixed with responsibility, anxiety, and something else low at the base of his spine—and worry, so much worry. "Okay, Crowley. Talk. We'll listen like Sammy said, but you better have one damn important speech to give us."

Crowley grinned. "Don't I always?"

They gathered in chairs around the main table, close together at the head of it, to listen to Crowley's proposition. Dean expected the opening lines, almost could have predicted them word for word, but the rest surprised him.

"You want me to take over Hell?"

"I want you to _act_ like you're taking over Hell."

Cas and Sam looked on with similarly narrowed brows.

Crowley continued. "Dean, we've just established that you are the most powerful being in known existence. And as far as any layman can tell, you're a demon. With that kind of power, having taken down Abaddon, bearing the First Blade, and now being reborn as one of us…all other demons will follow you without a moment's hesitation. That you are also Dean Winchester, scourge of Hell to begin with, just makes it easier for you to gain followers out of fear.

"Now here's the kicker. Hell is in shambles, in complete disarray after Abaddon, and I…haven't exactly stepped up to take the throne back with the show of strength my minions are looking for. You want to make sure demons know their place, that they stick to torturing souls that deserve it and making deals with fools at the crossroads, and leave the rest of the world alone? Make them. Take over and leave me in charge as regent to rule in your stead. Throw in an act of raw power every once in a while to keep dissenters at bay, and you'll have an obedient kingdom.

"Castiel," he said, turning to the angel, "remember when I gave you that lovely first class tour of _my_ Hell. It wasn't what you remember of it, Dean, or what it has become again now. It was orderly. Clockwork. Brilliant. I want that back. You know now what a disaster it would have been had you been able to close up Hell like Heaven was closed recently."

"We'd have had thousands of lost souls in the ether meant for Hell, waiting to turn into violent, angry spirits," Sam said, with a slight sigh in his words like they really should have realized that back when they were attempting to close Hell's gates. At least they had learned it through Heaven's closing instead, and now those souls could move on peacefully—Kevin could finally rest.

"Exactly," Crowley said. "So what's the next best thing to closing up Hell?"

"The devil you know," Dean finished. He'd heard Crowley say that before. Only this time he was starting to think it actually made sense.

"It's a fair deal, Dean. And if you ever think I'm getting out of line, or any of my demons are, what are we going to do? Rebel? You've bested me as a mortal; I know when I've met my match and when it's time to make a deal." Crowley's smirk was exactly the one Dean expected, but he wasn't joking. He meant every word. Crowley had always been the 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em' type, and Dean still wondered just how much the demon's changed personality, his spark of light, might mean larger change down the road.

But Dean wasn't in charge. He wasn't the leader. He'd lead if he had to, but this was a democracy. It had to be, or everything would fall apart, as it had so many times before. So he looked to Cas. To Sam.

"What do you guys think?"

Dean could see the gears in both brother and friend's heads spinning as they went over everything Crowley was proposing in finite detail, searching for the loophole, for the raw deal hiding at the edges of what seemed like a good, fair plan. They'd keep Hell in check…by running it. It would give them an edge no hunters in history ever could have imagined having. And a few new entries for the Men of Letters.

But Dean wanted a consensus. So he waited.

"Against my better judgment, Crowley," Cas said at long last, "I do not hate you. In the end, my betrayal of you cost us more than any single act of yours."

Dean hated to agree that the Leviathan had been the end of many things, perhaps the worst of anything they ever faced for all its consequences. If they could have prevented that…

"I do not trust you," Cas went on, "and yet…what Dean sees in you, whatever is changing in you, it is not a trick. It is very real, and I fear that ignoring that would be a far greater folly than working with you again. We are all different now than we once were. Very different. I think his argument is sound," he turned finally to Dean.

"Love you too, angel," Crowley said with a smirk. "Moose?"

Sam's bitch-face gave a brief appearance at the nickname, but he soon shrugged in resignation. "I can't think of a downside, other than it gets under my skin to make any kind of deal with you, Crowley. But I have to agree…I think it's worth the risk."

They shared a nod. "Okay," Dean said, "then what's next?"

"Next, I leave you boys to your own devices for a few days to lay some groundwork," Crowley said, rising from the table. "I'll find my loyalists. Find any true dissenters who might cause problems. Spread some rumors about you. The usual research and PR. Then I'll have more to tell you so you can go in prepared. I'll check in soon. Call if you need me. You know the number by heart by now," he said with a teasing glance at Sam.

The prospect of a few days with no responsibilities, no looming war or world to save, was probably the biggest relief of all. "Then you got a deal, Crowley," Dean said. "Don't make us regret this."

Later, after Sam had stored the First Blade somewhere Dean hadn't seen—though Dean was honest with him that he could probably find the Blade by feel alone, so best to keep a close eye on it—the younger Winchester admitted to his exhaustion. Dean and Cas didn't need sleep, which Dean actually found comforting, knowing he could be up 24/7 now to keep watch, but Sam had been up long past due and deserved some rest.

"What about you?" Dean asked Cas after Sam had excused himself to his room. "You sticking around here? You're welcome to. I just want to be sure you're not skirting any angel responsibilities just for our sakes."

"I have no responsibilities, Dean," Cas said, as they moved to sit at the smaller table in the other room, away from the main room so close to the bedrooms in case their voices carried to Sam. "I have passed on my role as leader. I never wanted it. But should my brothers and sisters call for me, I will go."

Dean nodded. "That's good, then. But what about you? Cas," he pressed on before Cas could throw out an excuse, "I can see you, okay, just like you can see me, and you are not well. You're flickering. You're dying. Your grace is burning out, isn't it?"

Cas averted his gaze to stare at the tabletop.

"It's because it's not yours, right? Like a body rejecting an organ?"

"I suppose that is an accurate analogy."

"So what do we do about it? If you leave things alone it'll kill you. What options are there?"

"I have been considering that, Dean, and…I believe there are only two options available for me to survive this." He kept his eyes on the table a moment longer then looked up at Dean earnestly. "Either I cut the remaining grace away before it burns through me, and I become human again. Or…I replenish my grace by taking that of another angel, and hope that this time they are more compatible. But I cannot do that, Dean. How far gone and dark I was when I stole this grace for my own…I never want to go there again."

"But what do _you_ want, Cas?" Dean leaned across the table. "Do you want to be human? If you could choose, what would you ask for? What would make you happy?"

Cas stared for what felt too long into Dean's eyes. Finally, he looked down at the table again. "I just want to be an angel."

It was the middle of the night, most of the lights were off, and the bunker was otherwise silent with Sam no doubt fast asleep now in his room. That left only the sounds of gentle breathing from two men who didn't need to breathe.

Dean looked hard at Cas, at his flickering light and larger than life angelic soul, and stared deeper into the very center where, in Crowley, he had seen a faint spark. In Sam that was where the light was brightest. Clearly, the center was where the true power of a soul lay. And as Dean looked at Cas, at the brightest point in his grace, he suddenly realized that if he reached out, reached deep within Cas…he could touch it.

Then he knew, he _knew_…he could heal it.

"Cas…stand up."

* * *

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hello again! Sales are going great for Changeling, and reviews are already coming in, so if you're a M/M paranormal romance fan please take a moment to check out that and it's first installment Incubus either on BigWorldNetwork DOT com or search my name, Amanda Meuwissen, on Amazon for my books.

Enjoy!

* * *

**If Demons Saved Angels**

* * *

Chapter 3

* * *

Cas stared at Dean.

"Stand up," Dean said again, "come on." Dean pushed his own chair back and moved around the table to stand beside Cas, so that once he complied and stood as well, they were right in each other's personal space.

"Dean?" Cas asked quizzically, his head tilting the smallest bit to show his confusion.

"Just come here," Dean said, though Cas was already only inches from him. He grabbed Cas by the arms and moved them away from the table to have more room, though for what, Dean wasn't entirely certain yet. He just knew he could do this—he could heal Cas' grace. "I can see it…" he said absently, staring through Cas at what was basically the base of the angel's spine, deep inside of him, where his grace was flickering as it faded.

He looked up at Cas and, for a moment, he would swear those bright blue eyes were just as vibrant as the grace inside. They seemed to glow, they were so blue. Dean could get lost in the way they shimmered and stared back at him with complete trust, despite the angel's confusion.

Dean squeezed Cas' arms in reassurance. "I don't know how, I don't know what it means, but I think—I _know_ I can reach your grace and fix it."

Cas blinked. His head titled further. "Fix it?"

"I…I don't know how to explain, I just…I feel like I have to try. Will you let me? I know how dangerous and painful messing with souls can be," Dean went on before Cas could answer. "I remember how it was with Bobby, with Sam. So if it hurts too much, if at any point you want me to stop, I will. Promise you'll tell me and I'll stop. But I want to try."

A minute passed as Cas absorbed what Dean had said and considered the possibilities. The trust never wavered in his gaze. Finally, he said, "If you believe it, Dean, of course I will allow you to try. I will tell you if I believe things are going wrong. I promise."

Dean nodded. He wasn't really sure how this would work. He knew that as a supernatural being himself now he should be able to reach in as if he were freaking Kitty Pride from X-Men, right through Cas like empty air and touch the angel's grace. But it wasn't empty air; he would still be passing through his friend, reaching deep into Cas' very soul, and messing with something more powerful than he could ever fully understand. So he knew the only thing he could do was trust his instincts. He rarely had faith in anything outside of family, but maybe tonight…he could have faith in himself.

He took a breath he didn't need then let his hands fall from Cas' shoulders. He looked down at Cas' midsection, at where the soul was buried deep within, but he could feel the heat of the angel's eyes on him, watching him closely.

It seemed strangely intimate, reaching tentatively forward and slightly down between Cas' hips, just below where his bellybutton would be. Dean felt his eyes flicker to black as power filled him and extended down into his fingertips. The light pressure and presence of fabric, of Cas' stomach, lasted only a moment before the resistance faded and Dean pushed inside.

Cas gasped, and Dean knew that if he looked up, saw even a glimmer of pain cross those brilliant blue eyes, he wouldn't be able to do this. So he said, "You good?" and paused only for a moment.

"Yes…it does not hurt," Cas said, though his voice was shallow and breathy.

Dean trusted Cas to speak the truth, and so pressed on. The grace rested low within Cas' core, not in the heart or head as one might expect. It pulsed brightly as Dean neared it, like it sensed him.

Almost as if his vision zoomed in, Dean could see the grace before his eyes and examined it closely. There were cracks along the surface, spilling out light, losing power. What had become Cas' human soul wasn't compatible with this new grace and was rejecting it, refusing to fully become one with it again. Dean had to soothe it, had to smooth out the cracks and reform what remained of Cas' humanity to accept its angelic grace once more, even if it wasn't the grace Cas had borne before.

It seemed so small, the heart of Cas' grace. Dean could wrap his whole hand around it, and he did so gently. He knew as the first wave of power left his fingertips that this was what Cas had once done for him—smoothing away the scars and darkness of his time in Hell. Dean hadn't remembered the rescue, only Hell itself and then waking up in a grave he had to crawl his way out of. He hadn't remembered Cas.

He remembered now. A great glowing light that blinded him, painfully so, and whisked him away—him, a dark and ghastly creature that didn't deserve pity. Cas' grace had healed Dean then, but it couldn't take away the guilt, or pain, or all of that darkness, not all of it. Maybe in reverse, Dean could do more and finally repay the angel for raising him up.

Where Dean passed his thumb, the cracks in Cas' grace closed up and shimmered as if in gratitude. Where his fingers caressed, the parts that seemed foreign became more like Cas' grace from before, and his humanity embraced him again, forging his two halves into one stronger whole—an angel without fear of fading.

Dean was so focused on the careful work he was doing, on the light pulsing and growing brighter in his palm, that he didn't hear Cas at first.

"Dean…" His voice was a breathless gasp, distant.

Dean blinked, careful not to lose his place, let go, or squeeze the delicate ball of light too tightly as he glanced up into Cas' eyes. They were clouded, hazy. "Cas…?" Dean asked, concerned, ready to pull away at a moment's notice if the pain was too much.

"It does not…hurt," Cas said again, ragged and shaky. He looked at Dean deeply—too deeply, like he always did—and licked his lips. "I have only felt this…once before." He broke off with a moan and his forehead fell to rest against Dean's.

Relief and realization clanged in Dean's head all at once.

"It feels quite…nice…" Cas said like an afterthought, drunk on sensation and not at all embarrassed by their even closer than usual proximity.

Dean gave a low chuckle. "Well, geez, Cas, guess I should have bought you dinner first."

Cas hummed, not fully aware of his surroundings it seemed, so Dean took it as a sign that he could continue without fear of hurting his friend. He lifted his left hand to steady Cas by the shoulder, pushing back just slightly so that their foreheads were no longer together. Cas smiled lazily at him, and Dean turned his eyes back to his work.

His right hand still held Cas' grace, and the cracks were nearly gone. A few more tender strokes and pulses of whatever new power this was that Dean possessed, and Cas would be whole again. Dean smiled to himself that he could do this for his friend—save him where so many other times he had failed.

He felt the crescendo coming from a ways off, like rumbling thunder, like an electric current pouring through wires toward its inevitable destination, and yet even knowing a crack of lightning was upon him, Dean did not let go. He rode through to the end and let the storm come.

At the exact moment Cas' grace fully healed and was his own again, brilliant white wings sprouted from his back, his eyes flashed with light, and a shockwave of power burst from him with such force that Dean flew backwards into the nearby wall. What few of the bunker's lights that had still been on flickered.

Dean dared not open his eyes. He had been looking at the very source of everything Cas was when the angel erupted. Surely, his eyes were gone now, or he was burnt beyond recognition—a demon having seen for one brief moment the full glorious form of an angel. Cas was larger than life, bright and beautiful with those wings and his eyes glowing.

But then Dean realized he felt no pain. Not even from when he had struck the wall and fallen back to the floor. He slowly rolled to sit up.

"Dean?" Cas' voice called with sudden urgency.

Dean opened his eyes…and he could see. The dim room formed fully around him without trouble. He stood.

"_Dean_," came Cas' voice from behind him now. The relief and affection in his tone was palpable.

Wary but eager to see that everything was all right, Dean turned. He flinched, but the sight caused him no pain. Cas was radiant.

Cas was still his true self, dulled only in that he manifested the one way possible while within a human host. His eyes still glowed like bright white pools. His skin and clothing seemed to shimmer. And his wings remained. They were just as Dean had imagined them after seeing their outline in shadow the night they first met. As a human, Dean would never have been able to look upon Cas this way, not any more than he could have looked at Cas' true form outside a body. Now he could.

Cas' wings filled the room.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," Cas said, back to his senses from the haze he had been in while Dean healed him. Instantly his eyes were blue again, his form more normal and less radiant as his wings faded.

"Wait!" Dean dashed forward then stopped himself, but he couldn't deny that he didn't want to lose this moment.

With only his wings still visible, bright but not blinding, Cas looked at him, and soon his face filled with recognition. "You are not harmed. My presence does not burn you."

"Now I know why you only showed me shadows the first time," Dean said with a crooked grin. He stepped forward again, only inches from Cas once more, and marveled for a moment. There Dean was, a Knight of Hell, the new Cain, and he was looking upon an angel with black eyes…and feeling nothing but wonder.

He blinked to make his eyes green again, and Cas smiled at him.

"I do not know how you did it, Dean, but you have restored me," Cas said. "Thank you. I have not felt this much like myself in some time." He let his wings remain, which looked so perfectly out of place jutting out of a trench coat.

"What are friends for, huh?" Dean said, as his hand rose seemingly of its own accord toward the wing on Cas's right. It twitched and shook, and the feathers trembled. They weren't white. They weren't any color or discernable shade. Dean doubted he could have described them other than that they were made of light, and yet when he touched a feather, it felt soft as down.

"Dean…" Cas said a little breathless again.

Dean glanced up from the wing his hand had touched to look once more into Cas' blue eyes. They held a bit of that cloudiness again, and the angel's cheeks had a flush to them Dean had never seen before. Dean stepped closer into Cas' body, concerned, not understanding, until Cas gasped and took a step back, moving awkwardly around…the slight bulge not quite hidden by his slacks.

Dean stared at first then flushed with color as Cas had—something angels and demons seemed capable of equally—and finally released a laugh. To think he had feared causing his friend pain, and instead the healing process had been an entirely different kind of stimulation.

Cas' wings shook again, and Dean knew the angel was embarrassed. His head was tilted to the side, his eyes cast downward when Dean looked up at him. Dean played over a few dozen comforting words—happens to everyone; nothing to be embarrassed about; happy to oblige, angel—but the words didn't form. He suddenly didn't want to just dismiss this, or crack a joke to ease Cas' embarrassment. He wanted something else.

Dean wasn't as blind as everyone else thought. Of course he knew Cas was in love with him—he'd known a long time, and had always taken it in stride. Cas was an angel, not even really a gender, and had gotten attached to Dean from the start. Feelings were bound to surface. Feelings of want and desire had surprised Dean, of course, but Cas had always been professional about it. He never pushed further than his propensity for standing too close or for expressing blind devotion. He never asked for anything. He knew Dean didn't feel the same way and was respectful of that.

But Dean wasn't so sure that was the truth. He'd dismissed the way his gut clenched tight whenever Cas was suddenly right there behind him, or inches from his face; the way Cas was so earnest and curious, and wanted so badly to do right. Dean had dismissed how right it felt whenever they were alone, or just talking, or laughing, as finally having a real friend outside of Sam—in a way so different from Sam. Different from how it had been with Benny too. But friendship wasn't the word.

Dean's stomach clenched and flipped, his pulse raced, his face flushed, and he often lost his words around Cas. All the usual signs, all things he'd known only when he really cared for someone. It was never like that with random conquests, because those never really meant anything to him.

Robin, his first kiss; Cassie, his first love; Lisa, what he'd thought had been his last chance…the way he had felt with each of them was the same as how he felt with Cas. And he had tried so hard not to notice.

"Dean?" Cas asked, worried now that Dean might be upset, given his anxious tone.

Dean pulled from his reverie and caught Cas' gaze now that the angel had turned back to him. An _angel_ was standing before him as bare as he possibly could be with wings out and an ill-timed—or maybe perfectly-timed—erection stiff between his legs. It was hilarious, but Dean didn't feel like laughing.

There was this strange low hum in the air, a thrill that pulsed as heavily with power as Cas' grace had. Dean felt all the things he always had for Cas, but without any of the fear, or denial, or quick thoughts of how it was just plain _crazy_. And he realized then why he was still _him_, even as a demon. Why, in some ways, he was the perfect demon.

In mortal life, Dean always gave in to his base desires. Food. Booze. Women. There was only one he had always denied himself. And now there was nothing holding him back.

Dean stepped forward. There had only been a foot between them again, so a single stride was all it took for Dean to feel just how hard Cas was as the angel's hips met his thigh. Cas sucked in a sharp breath but didn't try to pull away. He let Dean crowd him with a look of mild shock and wonder. Then the angel's eyes went from clouded to darkened in moments, expressing raw desire and a willingness to do and be whatever Dean wanted of him, and Dean knew—he knew what he wanted.

The part of him with sense asked first, "Do _you_ really want this?"

The angel swallowed visibly, before allowing his body to relax and for his hips to press boldly forward. "Always," he said.

"Even with me like this?"

"However or whatever you and I might be, Dean, I will always want this."

A shiver ran through Dean because he knew it was true and he knew he felt the same, and only now, only as a _demon_, was he able to accept that.

He took the hand that had brought Cas' grace back to life, gently but insistently gripped the back of Cas' hair, and pulled him down to crash their lips together.

* * *

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This may be the hottest thing I've ever written. Ahem...

If you enjoy how I write sex...and in general, please consider checking out my published works, Incubus and Changeling, with book three in that connected series, Sidhe, planned for next year. Google my name, Amanda Meuwissen, or check out the links on my profile, and you'll find them.

Enjoy!

* * *

**If Demons Saved Angels**

* * *

Chapter 4

* * *

Cas wasn't much shorter than Dean, not really. Just a little less bulky and broad, a little more deceptively slight. Dean had kissed and embraced tall women that met him at this angle. But it was different, so different, feeling the pulse of raw, rejuvenated power of an angel under his hands.

His right hand continued to grip Cas' hair, just harsh enough to prove he meant this, not to hurt. The left hand snaked inside that well-worn and beloved trench coat to hold Cas close around the waist, though there was still a suit coat and button down between them. Cas moaned into his mouth, making their tongues vibrate as they met and interlocked. Cas tasted wet and warm and alive. There was a shiver of something almost like electricity, like pure angelic and demonic power colliding that buzzed between them and made Dean's mouth, his whole body tingle.

He felt no wave of remorse or guilt, nothing of regret, not even that dull pulse of _no, I shouldn't have done this_. No hesitation followed the act, because the new Dean he had become finally accepted that this was something he wanted. Why had he denied himself something he wanted for so long? Why, when Cas wanted it too? The reasons he had come up with over the years seemed so trivial and silly now.

Dean sucked in air as they pulled apart, their foreheads pressing together as they had while he healed Cas, though neither was really out of breath. They could go on like this forever, but Dean wanted to pause, to pull back and bask in how this was actually happening.

He pulled back fully and found Cas flush, eyes dark now, and the slightest and somehow dirtiest little smirk on his lips like he knew he was going to get everything he wanted—like he knew Dean belonged to him.

Had a demon ever belonged to an angel or vice versa? Was that even really what either of them was anymore, with all their trials and brushes with death, or were they more? Dean was no god. Cas sure as hell hadn't handled being one very well. Maybe they could just be them, however or whatever they were now, as Cas had said, and as long as they had _this_…they could ride it out together.

Cas' wings were still visible. Dean gazed at them fondly, following the curve of each feather with his eyes.

"I can keep them like this. When I'm with you," Cas said, his voice as deep and low as ever with a tinge of huskiness and arousal to it.

Dean met Cas' eyes again and realized he hadn't actually released the angel from his hold—a hand still in his hair, twirling the strands gently; another around his waist, holding possessively; the hardness and heat between them apparent from both of them now.

"You just be you, Cas," Dean said. "I like what I see. And…I'm sorry. Sorry I never—"

"Dean," Cas said, his own hands hesitant still as they went from resting on Dean's waist to around his back fully where he gripped tightly and pulled Dean against him. "I do not wish to think of the time we lost. We have now. We have…eternity, perhaps, if you want me that long."

"Well, you're a surprisingly good kisser, so we're off to a great start," Dean smirked.

Cas' blush deepened, though his smile twitched up at the same time. Dean could still remember when Cas didn't understand sarcasm. Now he could speak in idioms and pop culture references galore, and Cas would nod along, perhaps even smile as he was now. But no, Dean needed to be direct tonight.

"Not for nothing, Cas…I'm glad you're not a virgin. Makes some of this a little easier to get through. Still sort of glad the chick you lost your virginity to was ganked, though." He gave a low chuckle and let his forehead rest against Cas' once more.

"I have to agree," Cas said with full sincerity, "though I may require some…guidance still."

"Sounds kinky. Maybe we can try a few things you missed the first time."

"Such as?"

They had ended up near the table again. It wasn't as large or sturdy as the one in the main room, but it was sturdy enough. Dean pulled back again and shifted his hands to grip Cas' waist on either side, then moved them backward until Cas met the table before he far too easily hoisted the angel on top of it. He could probably hold Cas up for a fuck against the wall if he wanted, as easily as any girl. He could probably hold him up just by willing it, no arms involved.

This would do for now.

With Cas up on the table, Dean let his green eyes meet Cas' blue and lingered there as he made to push the trench coat from the angel's shoulders. He frowned as he looked at the wings. He didn't want them to go.

"It's all right, Dean. They are quite malleable," Cas said, which Dean didn't understand at first, until the angel shrugged the trench coat the rest of the way off and it fell from his shoulders, fell through the wings as if they weren't there, though they remained once the coat had fallen. It pooled around him on the tabletop.

Dean marveled a moment then smiled wide with a shake of his head. "You always surprise me, Cas."

Next went the suit coat, just as easily down his arms, leaving the wings in place, the clothing untorn. Dean sort of missed the tie. Maybe he'd ask for it back after all this. Maybe he'd ask for the trench coat and nothing else some night.

He unbuttoned Cas' shirt unhurriedly, but left it there, open but still on, as his hands strayed to Cas' slacks. He looked so rumpled and beautifully sinful, an angel, wings spread, legs spread, as Dean undressed him, and slowly brought down the zipper of his pants to get at the boxers beneath. Cas' legs dangled innocently from the table, but he wasn't _that_ innocent. Not anymore. Still, he was inexperienced enough at this that Dean knew Cas was anxious, excited at what Dean would do, _eager_.

Dean had never done this before, but that didn't deter him, or scare him, or make the once ever-present machismo of everything he'd ever known rear its head at him that this just wasn't something Dean Winchester did. But that was bullshit. Dean Winchester was a talented, thoughtful lover, even during the most hurried one-night stand, and he intended to be at his best tonight—better.

He took Cas in hand, slipping him free of his boxers, impressed with the body's size, since he hadn't really expected too much from Jimmy, and maybe that was silly, because if an angel chose the guy as a host, he had to be impressive all around. Maybe it was just that Cas was _that_ hard for Dean that he was impressed, and just as eager to feel that warm skin in his palm as Cas was to be held.

Cas lifted from the table a moment, arching unintentionally into the touch, and his eyes fluttered as if to say, _finally. Finally, with Dean._

Dean licked his lips as he ran his thumb over the smooth liberal collection of precum on Cas' head. A whine escaped Cas' lips and Dean realized the angel would probably be a loud bed partner. They'd have to be conscientious of Sam, but Dean sort of liked the idea of getting the angel moaning and whimpering, and chanting his name. The thought made him harden further and he gripped himself through his jeans a moment with his left hand to still the pressure.

Moving his right hand from the head to Cas' base, Dean smoothed the precum down the shaft as he went, shifting his grip to hold the waiting cock in place. The height of the table made it just right for Dean to drop to his knees and slide in between Cas' legs, taking the tip into his mouth in one fluid motion. Cas grunted and bucked upwards once in surprise, but Dean wasn't deterred. Cas slid in smoothly between his lips and down his throat with ease, no anxiety, no physical resistance. Dean swallowed him back and hummed as his hand squeezed the base, then moved to cup Cas' balls with tender care.

All the tiny things Dean would often think of when with someone else, things he'd wanted to ask for but never did, he could do now for Cas, knowing how the slight brush of a finger beneath the balls, teasing, seeking, was enough to make Cas twitch and stiffen harder.

"I did not…experience this before," Cas said, his voice deep and shuddery.

Dean laughed as he licked up Cas' shaft and swirled his tongue around the head. "There are so many other things, Cas…you have no idea." And he wanted to try them all. They had until the end of the world—whenever that next came calling—to explore every possibility.

Dean worked Cas a few minutes more, slowing, not wanting to finish the angel off just yet. Then he swung up in the same single movement with which he'd fallen to his knees, right to Cas' waiting lips that he kissed deep enough to tip the angel back on the edge of the table.

Cas licked his lips when they pulled apart, frowned. Not in distaste or disappointment, just in concentration. "I would like to taste you," he said, as if that were a simple statement of fact and not mind-numblingly hot to hear in his growly voice.

"Next time," Dean promised, which maybe would come before morning anyway, but for now he had other plans for Cas. He still cared what Cas thought, what Cas wanted, and while his selfish side wanted to ravish, he still asked, "You mind how this goes down? Do you have a…preference?" He felt silly for asking but he had to know.

The frown deepened on Cas' face before it smoothed with recognition. "I have experienced the warmth of a woman, which I realize is quite different, but…" He took a breath. Shifted on the table. He was still free to the open air and his wet, naked cock pressed against Dean's clothed thigh. His eyes rolled back a moment before he continued, "I would like…you…to lead, Dean. I have thought many times of you taking me as you did so many women."

Dean shivered, fervently pressing himself forward so that their erections were tight, denim against skin. He thrust forward slowly with a subtle twist of their hips together. Then again. _Again_. The thought of Cas daydreaming about him fucking him, wanting it, imagining it _many times_, had Dean eager to show Cas how much better reality could be.

"Come on," Dean said, pulling Cas off the table after him as he backed away. "A bed will be softer. Easier. For what I got planned next." He smirked.

Cas's featured smoothed out completely and he smiled. He shifted back into his slacks slightly, though he didn't bother zipping up, then snatched his jacket and trench coat as he followed somewhat wobbly after Dean toward the living quarters.

There were several doors down the corridor, many rooms to choose from. Dean and Sam's were closest to the main room, in case of emergency. Dean led Cas further down, all the way to the end of the hallway to the very last room.

"Why not your room?" Cas asked, a note of disappointment in his voice, as if he thought this meant he was somehow unworthy or disposable.

Dean glanced behind him before opening the door and flashed a reassuring smile. "My room is right next to Sammy's. And you're loud," he added fondly, to which Cas blushed and momentarily averted his eyes. "Besides, you get to choose a room for yourself now. Might as well see what one of them is like. You know…just so we have a spot to go to where Sam can't hear us." He winked, easily getting across that he had no problem sharing his own room; this was just about logistics.

Cas nodded at Dean's logic. He followed him into the room. "I would have thought the rooms you do not use would be dusty and dank." He sniffed the air. "This smells faintly of vanilla."

"I've been ansty lately, kinda feeling like my skin wouldn't sit still or something," Dean said, "you know, while I was…" he didn't have to say 'still under the power of the Blade'.

Cas nodded again.

"So I cleaned a little. Just made sure none of the rooms were growing mold, you know." He shrugged. He hadn't really noticed how Cas came through the door. His wings had seemed squished in the hallway, like they shifted with the space provided, and lit up everything around them. Inside the room now, they seemed full again, bright and gleaming.

Mesmerized once more, Dean pressed a hand to Cas' chest between the open sides of his white button down, feeling the steady rhythm of a heart beneath that didn't really need to beat. Cas gripped his outstretched wrist. Then followed down his arm until he touched Dean's chest to mirror him, only Cas' brow furrowed as he did so. Dean let his own arm fall away and looked down to see that he was still in the same clothing he had died in—torn and bloody. Cas fingered the hole the blade had pierced.

"All good now," Dean said, moving to remove the ruined flannel and shirt underneath. He lifted them both over his head to discard them quickly, and immediately felt Cas' hand press back to his bare skin, right where a wound would have been, _had been_, but was no longer.

Cas' hand traveled over Dean's tattoo, lightly, fondly, then down to the slight pudge of his belly that Dean never was and never would be self-conscious about. Cas' eyes looked wide with wonder, as if he thought he was truly blessed to finally have permission to touch Dean freely. Then he looked up, and Dean made sure to smile, to exude how right this was, how much he wanted it, wanted Cas, so that any last traces of doubt would vanish from the angel's face.

They did.

"I love you, Dean," Cas said with deliberately slow and careful words, to be certain Dean understood he meant them.

"I know," Dean said, serious, not joking as he had once with Charlie—the sister he still missed. He let his face fall blank, not smiling, just staring back with sincere desire. He gripped the curve of Cas' jaw. "I'm still sorry, even if you don't want me to say it. Sorry it took me so long to admit I love you back."

Cas' wings gave a whoosh as they flexed, and his face seemed to fill with the same brightness for a moment, all because Dean finally said _I love you back_.

The angel surged forward, gripping either side of Dean's face as he kissed him feverishly and moved them so swiftly across the room that they bounced off the edge of the bed when they hit it and toppled onto the mattress. Cas didn't stop, even as Dean released a laugh between breaths, but kissed him deeper, moved his hands down Dean's chest and ravished him like a man starved.

Dean was reminded of how Cas had kissed Meg once upon a time, and damn her forever for stealing his first kiss.

Cas's cock slipped free of his slacks easily since they were low on his hips and open already. As he crawled on top of Dean and continued to assault his lips, the head swiped against Dean's stomach, and something hot and wanting pooled in Dean's gut.

"Touch me, Cas…" Dean panted. "I want you to touch me."

The real meaning in those words was implied, even for an oftentimes oblivious angel, and Cas obeyed with the same precious wonder, with awe and pride on his face as he sat low on Dean's thighs and began to under his jeans. He tugged them open, tugged them down along with Dean's boxers with little finesse, but his hand hesitated as Dean was freed, flopping stiff and neglected against his belly.

Slowly, Cas' fingertips, cool unlike the rest of him, slid along Dean's overheated skin and the intensity in his gaze sharpened. He gripped Dean—pulled, pumped, found the gathering of wetness at his tip and used that to ease his motion. He was curious more than practiced, afraid to grip too hard, as Dean might have if he were alone. Cas lowered his head as if drawn downward.

"One taste…so that you are wet for me, Dean," he said, at least partially aware of how obscene his words were, and those lips as they descended, so much more so when his impossibly blue eyes flicked up to meet Dean's gaze just as he took Dean in. He sucked, a slight pop of spit and skin making it all even more indecent.

"We gotta get the rest of these clothes off," Dean said plainly. "Now."

Cas was a whirlwind. His lips left Dean and in moments he had Dean's remaining clothing down his legs and off. He swung his own legs over the side of the bed to shimmy out of his slacks, then was up on his knees beside Dean on the mattress as he started to pull the shirt from his shoulders.

"Leave it," Dean stopped him with a light touch on Cas' wrist. "Just this."

Cas nodded, and he seemed to preen above Dean, on his knees looking down as Dean lay out before him, bare for the first time. Cas' wings spread out to canopy them.

Dean gripped Cas' shoulders and spun them, rolling, so that for a moment the wings shimmered, seemed to vanish and then reformed beneath Cas on the bed, somehow not knocking over anything on the nightstand. Dean settled himself between Cas' legs, where he decided he fit just right.

Very little softness had returned to Cas during their trek to the bedroom; now he pulsed, fully hard again, and Dean couldn't help touching him and giving a firm pull. Cas gasped.

Dean didn't have to ask or direct Cas after all, because the angel lifted his hips, baring himself to Dean and begging for it with his gaze, demanding to be filled. Dean still wet his fingers, knowing it didn't matter if they had something more practical for lube when they were basically both indestructible, but he still wanted to be gentle, wanted it to be good, so good. He slipped in a finger that Cas bucked against and then moaned as it moved.

"Unexpected…" Cas managed.

"_Good_ unexpected?"

"Better…than I imagined."

"I'm glad. Coz we're just warming up." Dean added a second finger and was amazed at just how ready Cas was for him. No one had ever opened so easily for him. Was it because he was an angel and could adapt his body as needed, or just because he had waited so long, wanted Dean for so long, that the prospect of finally fulfilling his desires was all he needed.

Cas moaned again, "Dean…" his head back and neck arched, eyes closed a moment until they opened with a flash as if angry at himself for ever letting them close and miss this. He looked up at Dean pleading for more, pleading for _him_.

Dean gripped beneath Cas' knees and thrust forward, the tight, wet heat embracing him and taking him in with pulses of muscles tightening every inch of the way. Dean fell forward once they were fully, deeply connected, his hands landing on either side of Cas' shoulders. He looked down with his own human, green eyes, though power he had never known before swirled throughout each corner of his body. He took in the angel beneath him, that loved him cursed or not, changed or not, alive or not. How had he missed for so long that this was the love of his life?

Cas moved before Dean did, rolling his folded body away and back again to begin the first thrust. He cried out more than moaned this time, and bit the back of his hand to keep his voice down. His wings seemed to tense and flutter like twitching muscles each time Dean rode into their momentum and back again, in and back again—connected, always connected.

Profound bond indeed. Bound forever now.

They rocked and moved, Cas' wings beneath them, his hands often touching Dean's chest, or shoulder, or between his own legs to give a few needed tugs. They lasted far longer than they would have if both or even one of them had still been human. But when it was time, when Dean thought he might lose his mind if he didn't release, it happened. Just like the crescendo of Cas' healing grace, he felt the thunder and lightning from a long way off, and when he finally came, all the lights flickered.

Dean gripped Cas in his own hand to finish him off, just a few short moments later, and the bedside bulb exploded. Cas' wings moved instantly to protect them from the glass. The overhead light only just barely managed to stay on.

"We may wanna do that with the lights off next time," Dean chuckled.

"No," Cas said simply, though there was a smile in his voice as a pale hand gently pressed against Dean's cheek. "I always want to see you clearly." He kissed him, their bodies still connected.

Dean felt like a few decades of bad memories fell from his shoulders. He felt sated in a way he hadn't any time in his life before.

When Dean finally fell to the side and they laid there in a sticky mess, he chuckled at the ease with which Cas waved his hand and they were clean—still sweaty and glistening, but clean. He turned into Cas' body and felt the wings blanket them, soft and warm and large enough to encompass all of him.

Once again, Cas let his forehead fall to rest against Dean's, the breaths they didn't need to take rising and falling their chests slowly. "You saved me, Dean. Thank you. Thank you for this."

Dean wasn't sure if Cas was thanking him for healing his grace and for his extended, beautiful wings, or for the sex—probably both, and he'd do it again. Oh lord, he'd do it again, and again, and again.

"Any time."

* * *

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: And the end! Just a fun little ficlet before I continue working on my next book, but I hope you all enjoyed, and I truly appreciate all of your comments, and those of you who have mentioned getting my books.

Once again, I ask you all, please, if you enjoy my work, consider purchasing Incubus and Changeling. Paperbacks, eBooks, and audiobooks are available at BigWorldNetwork DOT com, and you can always find my work by Googling my name, Amanda Meuwissen.

Enjoy! And thanks again!

* * *

**If Demons Saved Angels**

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Chapter 5

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Dean and Cas hadn't slept. Neither needed to. But they had laid in bed for some time, dozing contentedly, enjoying the dark and the quiet, the afterglow of their night together. Dean could hardly believe how much had happened in a day, how much had changed.

He leaned against the door of the kitchen, staring, arms crossed, at the domestic view of Cas in just his slacks and button down—not all the way buttoned—making breakfast. The angel had insisted. Dean was understandably worried.

"You do know that if you mess those up, 'Oh Lord, heal these pancakes' won't work the way mending bones does, right?"

Cas gave an amused grin over his shoulder. "I perfected making pancakes during my time as a human, Dean. I assure you. It was my one mortal triumph."

"Okay," Dean smirked, holding back on honest laugh. "But I thought you said everything tasted like molecules to you now?"

"I have a feeling…that will no longer be an issue," Cas said with another small smile.

Dean beamed back at him. He'd done something right for a change. Healed Cas. Given in to Cas. He moved into the kitchen and right up behind the adorable angel, whose wings were safely tucked away now in case Sam roused soon, and fit his arms around Cas' waist. Cas leaned back against him, his dark hair tickling the side of Dean's face.

"I'm sure they'll be awesome," Dean said softly into the angel's ear, then kissed his cheek and slid just as smoothly away again to grab some milk and orange juice out of the fridge.

Cas started humming—The Greatest American Hero theme song—and Dean felt a swell of affection in his chest. Life seemed unfairly blissful, and Dean fought to keep the age-old fear at bay that soon something would take his happiness away from him.

No. Not this time. Never again.

"Wow. Okay…now I might be worried," came Sam's voice from the doorway.

Dean turned around, milk and orange juice in hand, and set both cartons on the nearby kitchen table. "What?" Dean shrugged. "You gonna snub breakfast? Most important meal of the day."

Sam shook his head, his overly long hair still mussed from sleep, in his usual pajamas of a slightly baggier T-shirt and sleep pants. He padded barefoot into the kitchen, eyeing Cas at the stove. "I'm only half certain I'm not still asleep and dreaming this. You need any help, Cas?"

Cas flipped a nearly perfectly round pancake before glancing over his shoulder. "I have things under control."

"Mind if I steal Dean for a sec, then?"

"Of course not. I'll finish everything up and we can eat in a few minutes."

Sam nodded gratefully, though still visibly bemused, then turned to face Dean. Dean had already set out plates, silverware, and the butter and syrup they'd need earlier when Cas first suggested breakfast. He figured the angel could handle the rest.

As Dean followed Sam into the main area of the bunker, they approached the large table in the center but Sam didn't sit. "What's up, Sammy?" Dean asked. "You're not really worried, are you? It's just breakfast," he joked.

The sincere smile Sam offered dismissed any thought that he distrusted Dean, or Cas. "Not at all. Which is…part of the problem, I guess." His smile twitched and he sighed, glancing down at his bare feet before he looked back up to meet Dean's gaze. "Things are good, Dean. Really good. And I want them to stay that way for a change. We didn't get much time to talk after Crowley, and then with Cas here, and…I was dead on my feet last night. I don't remember the last time I slept so well. But the second I woke up, I knew we had to start things fresh, start things right this time around."

Dean nodded, patiently remaining silent so that Sam could finish what he wanted to say.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I did the one unforgiveable thing…saying we aren't brothers." Sam's puppy eyes shimmered. "It's not true, it never was, you know that. As soon as I was losing you, to the Mark, and the Blade, how you just weren't you anymore, and everything was going to hell for the millionth time, all I could think about was how I couldn't stand the thought of losing my brother again.

"We've both made mistakes, Dean, and neither of us is always good at admitting that, but the difference is, no matter what I do or how far I fall, you're always there, always willing to forgive me and take me back. I owed you the same, and I didn't deliver, and I'm sorry. I'm not saying we don't still need to work on how we do this…"

"I know," Dean said. "I know it's not fair that I keep acting like I know everything, like I'm always there for you, and then I go and screw things up again and lie right to your face…with Gadreel, with Cain."

"You didn't really trick me into saying yes to Gadreel, you know," Sam broke in. "I remember now, and…and I said yes to you, Dean, because I wanted you to save me."

"That's not an excuse for—"

"No it's not, but you didn't deserve how I reacted. You're always willing to do anything to save me, Dean, and I act like I wouldn't return the favor…and then I go and almost make another deal with Crowley, anyway, just like I said I'd never do…" He allowed himself to trail, took a deep breath. "When I say I want to start over, I mean it. Completely over. No more lies, no more doing things behind each other's backs, just us being us. I think a lie has been our undoing since the start of this, and we never seem to learn, do we? And we're both equally at fault for that."

There was no denying Sam's words, and every time it got easier to hide the truth, each of them always thinking it was for the greater good, or at least better for everyone involved to just live the lie. If they could take all those moments back…

Then Dean realized this was another of those moments, when he had the chance to start things right, and there was only one way to finally overcome the same pitfalls they kept succumbing to. He had to tell Sam the truth.

"You're right, Sammy. You're right," Dean said, letting his eyes drift to the table so he could steel himself for this. "So if we're gonna be better this time around, really better, I don't want to lie about anything. Not a damn thing. We gotta start this right. Last night…" Dean flicked his gaze up and froze as he met Sam's watery hazel eyes.

Sam looked at him earnestly to continue.

"Cas is walking on air in there, Sam, because I helped him heal his grace," Dean admitted. "I didn't know how, really, but I knew I could do it, and I did. Reached right in like we saw Cas do with Bobby, like how I saw Death do with you, and…touched his soul until it glowed bright again like it was meant to. He's 100% angel again, no threat of that changing."

"That's great, Dean," Sam said, reaching for Dean's shoulder and squeezing. "I don't need reassurance that you aren't some big bad we'll have to deal with some day, but if I did, I think healing an angel's grace would be pretty damning final evidence."

A smile stretched across Dean's face. "I sure hope so. But that's actually only the start of it."

Sam looked at Dean curiously, let his arm drop back to his side. "Can't be anything bad. He's making breakfast," he chuckled.

"It wasn't bad. It was…" Dean let his gaze drift away again as he remembered how the night had started from that point, after healing Cas, and everywhere it had gone afterwards. He still had no regrets. He felt nothing but peace—happiness. "I love him," he said simply, and met Sam's eyes again. "I love Cas, Sammy. Took me a long time to realize it, but I do."

He let that sink in a moment, and while Sam looked startled at first, his expression soon smoothed out as he waited for Dean to say more.

"Everyone always knew he had a thing for me—couldn't have been more obvious teasing me about it. Crowley. Balthazar…_you_. I didn't try to deny it last night, or how I feel for him in return. And…we did a little more than just talk out our feelings."

"Oh," Sam said, eyes widening as recognition dawned on him. He fought a smile. "Wow. So…would that have something to do with the crash I heard last night? More like something shattered. I thought I dreamed it."

"Light bulb by the bed," Dean nodded placidly. "Apparently angel orgasms are pretty potent."

Sam choked on what soon became a laugh as he shook his head at Dean and rolled his eyes. The smile, though, the sound, proved he didn't have any problem with this development, though there was a distinct impression of TMI.

Dean chuckled right along with Sam. "So yeah. That happened. Probably gonna happen again. Got Cas to offer breakfast this morning, though, so the aftermath seems to be working out pretty good so far." He chuckled again, and soon they were laughing—together, openly and loud.

Cas peeked his head out of the kitchen. "Breakfast is finished. However, I have not perfected how to make eggs. There are only pancakes. And you are now out of eggs. Is something amusing?"

Dean and Sam erupted into further laughter before finally composing themselves when Cas stepped out of the kitchen with his patented puzzled expression, as if he wasn't entirely certain if he should be offended; if they were laughing _at_ him.

"It's fine, Cas," Sam said at last, "pancakes sound great. We can take stock of supplies today and hit the town later for anything we might need. Lots to plan for, I guess."

"Nah, not today," Dean said, as they turned to head for the kitchen, the three of them entering together and taking seats around the table, which Cas had laid out to perfection. The smell of burnt eggs only slightly soured the general smell of delicious breakfast in the kitchen, and a little steam was still rising from the sink where Cas had soaked the delinquent pan.

Dean poured himself some orange juice. At first he thought he wasn't hungry, he didn't need to eat after all, but now that he smelled the food and looked at the spread, he wanted it, and he felt a familiar human rumble in his stomach. He happily indulged and gave in to his cravings without reservation.

"I'm thinking we should have a slow day and stay in," Dean said. "Crowley said he'd be a few days. There's nothing pressing that needs our attention, and you know what, we deserve a vacation. Not quite the same without Charlie, but…Game of Thrones season two? You got all the pop culture stuff in your hand now, right?" he turned to Cas, "You probably already know what happens."

Cas thought about that a moment then started to open his mouth.

"No spoilers!" Dean said quickly. "The experience of watching it is better than knowing, Cas. Plus I wanna be surprised. Sound like a plan?"

Sam hummed around a mouthful of pancake. Apparently, Cas wasn't wrong about perfecting how to make them. He swallowed and said, "I wanna shower first, but…I'm game for that."

"It would be…nice," Cas agreed.

"Awesome," Dean said before taking his first large bite of breakfast. It didn't taste like molecules; it tasted amazing. The look on Cas' face as he took a bite proved it was the same for him.

At least for a little while, they could have a normal day, and everything was right with the world.

Taking a break didn't mean Dean forget about the road ahead, or their plans with Crowley, but he felt confident that he'd be ready to hit the road and meet his new challenges head on once Crowley came knocking on their door again. For now, he wanted to relax and enjoy some time with his family. He wished a few more members were still around, but it was a start.

That night, after Sam had gone to bed with a quick word of warning that Dean and Cas had to at least keep things private, no sex in common areas—and Dean, in keeping with their newfound vow to always be honest, explained that they'd have to try harder next time then—Dean spent some time with Cas organizing his new room. Then kissing on the bed. Then trying to see how much they could do before the lights started flickering.

But eventually, Dean excused himself for a little fresh air. Not that he'd ever gotten the sleep he needed as a hunter, but now that he didn't need sleep, he felt an itch to be active, to accomplish something, but as he also still had a feeling of needing to relax and enjoy his time off, he settled for some time with his thoughts.

He walked out of the bunker and around up the hill the bunker was built under until he reached the very top. Is was late now, a clear dark night with stars and the moon shining above him. He stood at the tallest point of the hill and looked at the moon intently.

Crowley's speech came back to him, the first words he had heard clearly when he reawakened as a new man. The King of Hell had a tendency for flowery poetics, and yet Dean had felt something stir inside of him as he heard those words. He felt a little of that stirring now, and considering a whole new world of possibilities and people to save laid before him, he couldn't help himself.

He threw his head back and howled.

He sensed Crowley before he saw him.

"Not a damn word," Dean said with a note of fondness he couldn't—_wouldn't_ hide.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Crowley's lilting accented voice replied. "Not to rush you or anything, you're welcome to take your time adjusted and playing house with your boys down there, but…ready to take on Hell, Heaven, and the whole, big bad world, Dean?"

Dean kept his eyes forward, his head tilted slightly up at the shining moon, but he felt himself connected straight down into the bunker and to the men beneath his feet. He felt a pull and connection to Crowley, someone who had once been his enemy, standing now at his back—who had his back. He felt like there was a part of himself in the very fabric of the future. And while that all seemed a little too hokey for him to take seriously, the idea of having a future he could look forward to, made it all seem a little more worthwhile and possible.

Dean turned around, met Crowley's smirking gaze…and smiled.

* * *

**THE END**

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See you next ficcie!


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